


Carry On

by LifeIsDaBubbles



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Comfort, Death, Drabble, Emotionally Hurt Sam Winchester, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Hurt, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Men of Letters Bunker Feels (Supernatural), Pain, Post-Canon, SPN Completed - Freeform, SPN Family - Fandom - Freeform, SPN Fanfiction - Fandom - Freeform, Sam Winchester - Fandom - Freeform, Sam Winchester Needs a Hug, Sam Winchester and reader - Fandom - Freeform, Sam Winchester-centric, Spn fandom, canonish, gender neutral reader, reader - Freeform, you - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:55:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29686359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LifeIsDaBubbles/pseuds/LifeIsDaBubbles
Summary: Quick little short about the aftermath of Dean's death if Sam had a partner. I just couldn't stand the idea that Sam was all alone to handle Dean's death himself.**Edited for gender neutrality because the reader could be anyone and I don't put Sam in a box (unless it's my own) ;)
Relationships: Sam Winchester/Original Female Character(s), Sam Winchester/Reader, Sam Winchester/You
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please don't sue me, all I have is an active imagination. 
> 
> I actually wrote it with an OC in mind, so there's maybe some backstory that might feel missing. I tried to change it so it could be the reader because I'm not sure if it'll fit into my other story anymore, but I liked it so much that I decided to post it anyway! Please let me know if it seems confusing!
> 
> Also, the "vision" for this story came to me while listening to Neoni's cover of Carry On Wayward Son, so I highly recommend putting that on on a loop while reading this. So hauntingly beautiful!

Sam entered the bunker slowly. He was in a daze and could barely breathe. His body felt like wet clay and his vision was blurred, but his muscle memory walked him directly to your room. Your door was open and he found you folding some laundry across your bed. You were standing there, dressed in sleep shorts and one of Dean's ratty old band shirts he reluctantly let you rescue from the trash heap.

_ "Shouldn't you be wearing your boyfriend’s clothes?" _

_ "Well if I had one maybe I would," You'd answered off-handedly, refusing to look at Sam. You'd given him back all his shirts. _

Dean had given him so much shit for breaking up with you.

_ "Don't you dare give me that 'it's too dangerous' crap," He growled. "Our whole lives are dangerous. So, why not enjoy yourself with someone who--inexplicably--wants to enjoy yourself with you?" _

_ "Just shut up and leave it alone, Dean. If anything happen--"  _

_ "No, YOU shut up and listen! They're making a choice to be here with you and they knows the risks all too well. Their death would not be on your hands anymore than mine would ever be."  _

He closed his eyes tightly and swallowed an agonized groan at the memory.

You didn't notice him at first, standing with your back toward the door while you hunt through a sea of fabric in the basket in front of you for the match to the sock you're holding. After a few moments of futile searching you wonder if maybe the match wasn't one of the loners in your top draw, so you turned to check.

"Christ!" You yelped at the sight of a dark figure in your doorway. A relieved breath escaped you as you relaxed, realizing it was just him. 

You’d been trying to keep your distance from Sam. The ex-boyfriend who broke your heart into a million pieces six months prior by breaking up with and with whom you are still painfully in love. The day it happened, you thought you were going to die, which was ironic considering he claimed preventing your death was his reasoning in the first place. But you’d had no place else to go and you’d had Dean, Cas, and Jack to comfort you and shovel manure pile after manure pile over Sam for his decision. 

Once you’d made the decision to stay at the bunker, despite how painful it was, for the sake of overall peace you swallowed your anger and had been able to build a tense, yet agreeable working/living relationship. It was still difficult for you whenever you found yourself alone with him though.

His presence in your doorway was surprising; the boys were obviously back from their trip. You opened your mouth to smart off at him about not texting a heads up when you realized something was very wrong.

“Sam?” Something about the way he moved--or didn’t move--caused your stomach to begin a slow descent. There was a cold heaviness in your chest and all the hairs on your entire body stood on end. You began to eliminate the distance between you quickly, asking, "Sam, what is i--SAM!!" 

When you got close he collapsed to his knees and sobbed. 

"Sam, oh my god! What?! Sam, what!! What is it?!!!" You squatted down and grabbed his shoulders, shaking hard. You had never seen him this way and you knew the amount of things that would cause Sam to be in this state were very few. They were also awful and unthinkable. A black hole of terror began forming in the pit of your stomach.

_ No!  _ Though, in the back of your mind, you knew. 

In response, Sam tossed his head back with an agonized grimace, tears pouring down his face. He opened his mouth to speak but sobbed instead, dropping his head again. 

"No," You choked, grabbing either side of his face and forcing him to look at you. There was an ache in your chest, as though your heart was vibrating at hyper speed. Every fiber of your being fought against the knowledge beginning to creep into your consciousness. But the moment you met his cloudy, bloodshot eyes filled with despair, you knew. 

In an instant you were crying but you fought hard against it, begging, "Sam, no! Please, please, please, nononono! NO!" 

The agonizing moan he gave in response was all the confirmation you needed. Your rapid heartbeat ceased with a painful jerk as your heart broke. 

Dean was dead. 

Breaking eye contact, you shot back upright in front of him, tears flowing like flood water. Your mind raced and you were taking large, gulping breaths. You couldn't believe it. You knew, fine, OK, yes, you  _ knew, _ but you didn't fucking want to! Your eyes squeezed shut tight. Holding both hands over your mouth, you suddenly let out a muffled scream of pain that makes the ache in your chest grow stronger. 

Sam grabbed tightly onto your hips and pulled you to him. The action startled you and with a gasp, you were jarringly reminded of his presence. Your hands dropped and you wrapped your arms around his head, squeezing him as you both cried. His arms moved then to your back, clinging to you desperately. Burying his face into your abdomen he began screaming against you while you squeezed him tighter. It took all your willpower not to break down and scream again along with him.

Everything hurt, yet you felt so numb you were shivering. 

"Sam!" Came a desperate gasp as your whole body jerked with a sudden thought. Gripping his arms and trying to pry him off, you shouted this time, "SAM!" He stopped screaming, pulling away from you and groaning in pain. Your tears built up again and you shook him determinedly, "Sam! We can bring him back! You can bring him back! I know you can, there has to be a way--I can--I’ll help you and we can bring him--we can bring Dean back!! We can--”

“No!” Sam responded to your sorrowful begging with a fierce tone, grabbing your arms tightly and shaking his head. "We can't! We... have to… let him... rest," he barely made it out before falling forward and placing his forehead on the ground, scream sobbing once more. Your legs gave out and you dropped onto your ass ungracefully. Leaning forward you flung yourself across his back, holding him tightly, alternating between attempts to calm him and getting lost in your own painful sobbing. He was so raw with emotion, it overwhelmed you. 

When it seemed as though Sam was at risk of hyperventilating, you pulled yourself together and began to rub his back and shush him gently. With all your might you pulled his weighted body to you and laid his head in your lap. He grabbed onto your thigh tightly and kept sobbing. 

Through tears, you began to beg in a murmur, "Shhhh, Sam. Shhhh! Breathe, please breathe. It's ok! It's--" The consolation had escaped your lips without thinking and caused you both to sob painfully. 

It wasn't ok. 

Hours later, the two of you were still in a crumpled heap on the floor and had barely moved. Miracle had joined you, too, though neither of you could identify when exactly he’d showed up. Sam was laying on his side between your outstretched legs, head resting and arms wrapped around your left thigh. Miracle was stretched out along your left leg with his chin up on Sam’s arm. The crying had eventually died down and you’d all been quiet, save for sniffling, ever since. 

Just as you were about to pass out, draped forward over his shoulder, Sam finally shifted. Though sunken with exhaustion, you recognized the look of resolve on his red, splotchy face. You supposed he was right; no point in putting it off any longer. It took you both a long time to peel yourselves up off the floor. Then, as if on auto pilot, you shuffled to the garage. 

At the sight of Dean’s lifeless body, you'd had a somewhat violent outburst as your grief twisted painfully around your muscles. Again, you begged Sam to let you try to find a way to revive him, clawing at his chest desperately in your grief. He comforted you this time. Wrapping his large, strong arms around you and squeezing tight, he tried to still you; to force you to stop dodging your emotions and just feel them. It took a while but eventually it worked. 

Surprisingly, you and Sam made it through the rest of the process with only two and a half more breakdowns between you. Otherwise, you’d set about your tasks in mostly silence, following Sam's lead as you prepared Dean’s body for a hunter's funeral. 

When it was done, you helped Sam load the shrouded body into the backseat of the car. You knew Sam needed to do this alone, so when Sam walked away to collect his tools you leaned forward and placed your forehead gently on Dean’s cloth covered one. 

So many thoughts flooded you in that moment; many of them unproductive and unhelpful at stopping your tears. You felt a long nonsensical, angry, grief filled diatribe bubbling up in your throat, preparing to rain down on him. As you clenched your fists tightly, you had the urge to punch him. How could he do this? How could he leave Sam?! Leave you? You hated him so much! 

“I love you.” You whispered slowly through your quiet sobs. It was the only thing you could think to say that you didn’t immediately criticize in your own head. It was the only thing that made sense. 

Swallowing everything else down, you stood back up and took a deep breath. Gently closing the door, you squeezed your eyes shut and wiped away the tears that fell. You were fairly certain you’d never stop crying and it filled you with a ridiculous amount of rage. 

Sam, who’d been waiting patiently for you at the trunk with Miracle, walked up and placed a hand on your shoulder, squeezing tightly. You reached up to touch his wrist and adjust the watch--Dean's watch--he was now wearing. You made the mistake of looking into his eyes and almost dissolved again. You realized in that moment that the thing making you the most angry was the fear that you’d never see Sam happy again. The sorrow in his beautiful hazel eyes might just be permanent after a loss this terrible. 

You hugged yourself tightly, watching as Sam drove off to give Dean a proper goodbye. You prayed he would have the strength to make it back. You couldn’t lose them both.

________________

When Sam returned, he found you in the rotunda, leaning over the map table next to a mug of cold coffee, snoring. With a concerned brow furrow, he walked over and lifted you up out of the chair carefully. His overtired, abused muscles screamed at him but he couldn’t have cared less. Without thinking, he took you to his room and tucked you into his bed softly. Sitting on the edge next to your resting figure, he watched you for a moment.

_ Every day you're out there and you're li… And you're living and you're fighting, 'cause you… You always keep fighting. You hear me? I'll be there every step. I love you so much. My baby brother. _

Sam squeezed his eyes shut tight, tears streaming once again. 

________________

You woke with a start a short while later, realizing you weren’t where you left yourself at the map table. Sitting up in bed slowly, you realize the room is familiar but not your current setup. 

“Sam?” You say into the empty air and listen. No response comes, so you get up and start searching. 

You didn’t have to walk the bunker halls long, finding Sam sitting on the edge of Dean’s bed. He was crying and petting Miracle, who--bless his heart--was trying to comfort the poor, grieving man. 

When he finally notices you in the doorway, he gives you a quick, guilty, joyless smirk through his tears. You can tell he feels awkward that you caught him, even though you would never judge him, so you gave him a kind smile back and came over. He hangs his head as you approach, which makes you walk faster and hug him fiercely, wanting to comfort him. He falls into you and holds on tight, more tears--mostly of guilt--stream down his face and into your shoulder. 

You’re both startled by a buzzing noise from the desk to your left. Sam stands up slowly and walks over to it, opening the top drawer and searching through the pile of old phones to find the ringing one. He gives you a strange look, then answers it slowly. 

“Hello?” You watch as he listens and then stutters, “Uh, this is… Agent Bon Jovi?” You closed your eyes as a painful twinge shot through your heart at the reminder of Dean. 

As the man on the phone spoke, Sam realized it was a hunt and suddenly the wind knocked out of him. Dean’s dying words had been echoing in his head on a loop for hours. He wanted to keep fighting but not them, not the monsters. He wanted to fight for you, for your relationship. If he didn’t have his brother, then the world could go fuck itself while he f--was with you. He’d been arguing with himself about when was an appropriate amount of time before telling you. He’d hurt you a lot already and knew he had some things to atone for; he also didn’t want to rob you of your time to grieve by confusing you with his change of heart. But the call, the prospect of a hunt, had startled him into the realization that he didn't want to wait another fucking second to tell you how he felt.

You watched him curiously during the long silence until he turned his head and made eye contact. The look in his eyes startled you into taking a step back and you heard him say, “Uh… Sorry, I… I can’t help you.” 

Blinking in confusion, you watch him snap the phone closed and toss it back into the drawer definitively. Then, he turned on his heel suddenly and marched toward you. In an instant, his arms have wrapped you up in a tight hug, his lips crashed down onto yours passionately. Your poor shattered heart starts beating painfully hard and you don’t know if you’re crying from pain or joy, but it doesn’t matter. As long as Sam is in your arms, nothing else matters, so you allow yourself to plunge headfirst into him without a second thought.

“Sam,” You gasp when his lips finally disappear from yours. You look into his eyes and something unspoken passes between the two of you. With a gulp, you beg, “Make love to me.” 

The next thing you know, he’s swept your legs up into his arms and is carrying you back to his room. He kicks the door out of habit and just before it closes, you think maybe it could be OK. Eventually. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like I said before, I wrote this whole piece originally with an OC from another story in mind, so I also had this little 'morning after' part written. Chapter 1 is fine to stand on it's own, but since I wrote this all, I figured I'd add it just because. This is nothing but pure sappy, syrupy, saccharine sweetness, though, so mind your cavities (that's what she said)! :)

You wake with a start, gasping for air as a breathtaking wave of emotion crashes down on you the second your eyes are open. Checking the clock you realize you’ve been rolling over back to sleep for nearly 12 hours. And you were almost positive you’d been in a deep, uninterrupted sleep for at least 10 hours prior to that. Obviously all the heightened emotions and strenuous activity had worn you out. 

The surprising amount of time you’d slept was far less surprisingly than finding Sam still sound asleep beside you. You weren’t sure if, like you, he’d been there sleeping the whole ~24 hours, but you thought you remembered him being there every time you woke up. The thought brought a small smile to your face, before it was quickly replaced with a pained frown.

Between your grief for Dean and your worry over what last night meant for you and Sam long term, you felt hungover. No wonder you had rolled over back to sleep so many times. Glancing at Sam’s beautiful face, you considered rolling over again. You couldn’t go so far as to say he looked peaceful, but at least the pain was gone for the time being. 

A loud rumbling in your stomach made you realize you hadn’t eaten since before the world had permanently dimmed. It also occurred to you that Sam probably hadn’t either. Careful not to wake him, you very slowly slipped out of bed, dressed, and shuffled to the kitchen with the idea of rustling up some grub. 

The stark silence of the bunker kind of frightened you. When you’d come along, the place had been bustling with dozens of people--refugees the boy’s had saved from their worlds’ apocalypse. Even after they were all mostly gone, and it was just the five of you "living" there, there was always noise from somewhere, a kind of hum reverberating and echoing subtly through the walls as proof of life within.

Now it was just you and Sam, and Miracle, and the hum was all but gone. In the silence, you were left with two choices: wallow in your grief or over-analyze your precarious love life. 

_ A real Sophie's choice _ , you thought with a wry smile. You knew Dean would have found the humor and shared a commiserating chuckle at your self depreciation; the thought made you cringe sadly. 

_ Love life it is,  _ you determined as you reached the kitchen and began gathering ingredients and tools.

_ If last night was just a one time thing, I needed to be OK with that _ , you think as you crack some eggs into a bowl and whisk.  _ Sam was--is--a grieving man currently experiencing intense, unimaginable pain. If all he needed was a night of comfort, I was happy to provide it. Hell, I needed that comforting, too! _

Yet, as you turn around to preheat the oven and turn on a few stove burners, your rational side responds snidely,  _ alright, just don't pretend it's not going to hurt like hell.  _

_ I've gotten through worse,  _ you argued, reminding yourself of Sam ending your relationship.

_ You had family then. Cas. Jack.  _

_ Dean. _

As the white hot knife plunged through your heart, you sucked in a quick, ragged breath. You were furious with yourself. You were trying to  _ avoid _ your grief, thank you very much! Of course you knew how difficult it was going to be. 

_ No one is saying it'll be easy! _

But, no matter how painful it was, you knew you could do it. Relationship or not, you'd die before you left Sam alone.

_ Period. _

_ ______________ _

Sam found you in the kitchen, setting a few plates of cooked food down on the table, about an hour later. He took a minute to admire you in your black jogger pants and matching hooded crop top. You always complained the bunker was never warm enough. One of the many things you and Dean were constantly bickering about.

_ "Keep it great at 58,' my ass, Dean! I'm freezing!" You whined, wearing three layers and wrapped in a blanket. _

_ "Do you know how much it costs to heat a giant, maze-like pre-war bunker?" He asked you in a condescending tone, causing your mouth to go agape as you stared at him for a long time. _

_ "You… DON'T EVEN PAY BILLS WITH YOUR MONEY!!" You'd finally screeched in frustration before huffing off toward the thermostat. "I'm turning the fucking heat up; you can't stop me!" _

_ "Wanna bet?!" He'd shouted angrily, getting up to chase after you. "Don't you touch that thermostat!" _

“Oh!” Sam was yanked back to the present by your startled exclamation upon noticing him finally on the doorway. 

After a deep, relieved sigh you admonished softly, “Oy, stop doing that!"

He gave you a small apologetic smile that, while sincere, didn't come close to reaching his eyes and shrugged out a quiet, “Sorry. You look nice this morning.” 

Your brow furrowed a bit and you blushed, your heart fluttering painfully, “Thanks. Same to you,” You complimented earnestly with a quick once over admiration of his shirtlessness. His smile turned shy but also finally had a glimmer of real happiness, too, which made you smile in turn. Still, he pulled his gray undershirt shirt on over his head. 

Reading his reaction as embarrassment, your nerves returned and you began rambling, headed toward the fridge, “Are you hungry? Because those are some of my best pancakes yet!” Grabbing the butter out, you nodded at the table with a pleased expression, “I’m pretty sure three of the five aren’t burnt at all!” On your way back to the table, you grabbed the syrup from the counter and set it all down. Then you walked over to get the coffee pot, brought it over, and filled up both empty mugs, “And I’m at least 75% sure you won’t find any eggshells!” 

Sam couldn’t help but grin internally at how proud you seemed of that accomplishment. He could tell you were nervous rambling--an adorable character trait of yours. Adorable, yet perplexing. No matter the reason, the familiarity and normalcy was incredibly comforting, which is exactly what he needed at the moment. He loved you so much. And, deep down under all his numbing grief, he was so happy he could finally feel it, think it,  _ say _ it without hesitation. It was his fighting chance.  _ You  _ were his fighting chance.

He hadn’t realized he was staring until you began rambling again, taking the coffee pot back over to it's station, “But, as my grandmother used to say: if you do find an eggshell, it’s simply proof that it was homemade with love, so--” Sam cut off the rest of your ramble by walking over, turning you toward him with a strong hand on your hip, and then wrapping you up into a few soft, tender kisses. 

Your lips were locked for about a minute before Sam pulled back and murmured a calm, “Why do you seem so nervous this morning? Are you worried about something?" 

The expression you gave him was indiscernible while you avoid direct eye contact, mustering up the courage to say what you needed to say. Suddenly, you shoved him gently toward the chair at the table, ordering, “Sit."

"Please?” You added when he stood his ground at first, letting go of you but not moving. Reluctantly he sat and you then sat across from him. 

“When was the last time you ate, I--” You started, picking up a plate of biscuits and holding it toward him.

“Nevermind,” He said firmly, taking the plate and setting it down out of your reach. Then he reached over and placed his hand over yours, “Is something wrong?” 

The look of pain and worry on his face made you ache and you flipped your hand over, grabbing his and squeezing; you almost lost your nerve. 

But he was owed an explanation and some assurances, so you pushed forward, “There’s nothing wrong, Sam. I just wanted a chance to talk to you this morning because... I-I want to make sure that we’re both on the same page about what happened last night.” You winced; things were coming out wrong. 

Sam looked confused and then nervous, “You... want to make sure we’re on the ‘same page’?” He thought you  _ were _ both on the same page. He loved you, he finally told you he loved you after months of denying it. Now he wondered if he'd misread the situation. He wondered if it was already too late to apologise, too late to get you back.

You gulped, “Uh, OK, wait. Sorry, this is coming out weird. All I want is to assure you that-that…” you could feel tears beginning to well up, so you paused and took a drink of water. With a deep breath you started again, slowly, “Um, so listen, I want to assure you that I don’t have any…  _ expectations _ after what happened last night. You were--well we were both  _ so _ emotional and--and things just happened. And--and I promise I didn’t mean for them to happen like that!” 

Sam looked even more concerned, “You didn’t mean for that to happen? Are you… do you regret it?” 

You placed your hands in prayer over your heart, trying to center yourself, swallowing back tears to try to get through this, “No, that’s not what I mean! I don’t regret it. At all! But, I know you’ve made it clear that you aren’t looking for a relationship right now and I want you to know that I respect that. I  _ swear _ . I completely understand if…" you had to pause shortly to take a quick, calming breath, "if--if last night was just one hurting person reaching out to another hurt--” he’d rolled his eyes and stood up in the middle of your nervous speech. Reaching for you and pulling you up to meet him back at the end of the table, he kissed you again. He made sure this kiss was different though. His lips crushed yours and he poured his heart and soul into it, trying to show you just how wrong you were. 

Impossibly, more tears were streaming down your face when he pulled back. Wiping them away he murmured, “I thought I was pretty clear about how I felt last night? That was  _ not _ 'just' anything. It meant something to me and it was important to me. Can’t you feel it?” He asked, taking one of your hands and placing it over his heart.

You sniffled, dropping your head down to collect yourself for a moment while he rubbed your back. When you looked up again you were chuckling in embarrassment, “I thought so, at first. Last night... I felt love radiating off you, it was amazing.” He gave you a look like ‘Exactly! So, what's the problem?’ and your laughter died away, nerves returning. “But… then I realized I’ve always felt that from you. Sure, it’s not always been quite as strong as last night but…” You struggled, trying to figure out how to explain. “Sam, I’ve felt your love for me since the day we met. Maybe I haven’t always known that it was love I was feeling, but this morning I realized it was and it always has been. Which was probably part of the reason it was so difficult when you told me you didn’t want to be with me anymore.” You gulped as the realization hit you in that moment, tears returning. Sam frowned guiltily, tears springing to his eyes as well. 

Before he could collect himself, you pushed on with a sniffle, “Um, which is what made me realize that I could have misunderstood what last night was supposed to be. And I just  _ need _ you to know that it was never my intention to take advantage of you in a--” 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on,” Sam blinked back his tears, starting to get frustrated. “You’re certainly not wrong about my stubbornly ignoring how I felt about you in the past --which I know I have to make up for--but last night I  _ told  _ you how I felt. How can you still be worried?” 

You looked confused then, and asked slowly, “Er--when was that?” 

“Last night!” Sam took a step back; he looked offended now. “Right before I kissed you?”

Though you could hear the silent ‘duh’ at the end of his statement, you gave him a patient expression while disagreeing, “No, Sam… you didn’t tell me anything last night.” 

He stood there frowning at you as he thought about it for a moment. Suddenly he nodded again, seemingly reassured by something, “I did! I said it! Right--right...  _ after _ we kissed? That first one? I remember I said it...” 

“Uh, nope,” You confirmed, shaking your head. “I found you in Dean’s room, we hugged. Then the phone rang, you answered it, hung it up, kissed me, and then… well, ya know,” You blushed then, remembering your perhaps inappropriate demand of him to make love to you. “The night was uncharacteristically free from dialogue, actually, save for a few choice words,” You were blushing more now, unavoidably reliving the wonderful experience in your head. 

Sam’s annoyance had dissolved into concern as he slowly walked himself through the night once more in his memories. He was  _ sure _ he’d said it! He had to have said it! He felt like screaming it from the rooftop so there’s no way he… didn’t say it… right? “Are you sure… maybe right before I put you on the bed?” You cleared your throat a bit in embarrassment and shook your head with an apologetic grimace. Sam looked positively stunned. “You’re sure, huh?”

“Yup. Pretty sure,” You nodded definitively. Sam’s silence allowed you to finish what you’d been trying to say all morning, and you reached out to grab his hand, squeezing, “Sam, I just want you to understand that regardless of what last night was or wasn’t: I’ll always be here for you--relationship or no. No matter what, I’m not going anywhere, OK?” Sam was staring into your tear-filled eyes with a tearful pair of his own, a guilty expression on his face. You instinctively placed a hand on his cheek and cracked a small smile, causing a few tears to fall, “And not just because I don’t really have anywhere else to go.” 

Sam let out a loud bark laugh before reaching for you and yanking you back into his arms. He hugged you fiercely, burying his face into your neck to laugh-cry it out. You giggle-sniffled along with him, holding him tightly.

When he pulled back he placed both his hands over your cheeks and looked down into your soul, “I can’t apologize enough for giving you the impression that last night was anything less than an expression of my intense desire to be with you, but I’ll never stop trying. I’m so sorry. I thought I said it last night, I  _ meant _ to say it last night, I SHOULD have said it but since I obviously didn’t,” A sob escaped your lips when he spoke your full name. You tried to look away as you dissolved into ugly tears, though a grin broke out on your face. Sam held it together, forced you to look at him gently, and continued, “I. Love. You. I love you, I love you, I love you, so  _ fucking  _ much,” He kissed you then and everything else dissolved. 

Sam guided you back from the table a few steps, then pulled away and turned quickly. With a swift sweep of his arm, your best-yet breakfast went crashing onto the floor. Then he grabbed you again, threw you onto the table, and spent the next few hours expressing his love for you in every possible way. 

Yes. Things would definitely be OK, eventually. You were sure now.

**Author's Note:**

> Big ups to my Ball Bustin' Bias, without whose love and support, I surely would have written nary a word.


End file.
